


Dandy horse

by HolRose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Humanity (Good Omens), Crowley doesn't get on with horses, Crowley is a flash bastard, Crowley loves innovation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose
Summary: This is a story about Crowley and his enjoyment of human innovation. It is a story of trial, and error, hopes that are raised only to be dashed. A story of all of these things. But most of all, it is really a story about the Bentley.Written for the SOSH Discord Server Guess the author prompt #10 ‘Velocipede’
Relationships: Crowley & Humanity, The Bentley & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #10 “Velocipede"





	Dandy horse

**Author's Note:**

> The velocipede was invented by Karl Drais in 1817 and was first called a Laufmaschine. It had no crank and pedals, it was more like what we would call a balance bike now, given to kids to train them how to handle a two wheeled machine. Although they are simple, they do require the ability to balance between steps.
> 
> They were popularised in London by Denis Johnson, a coach maker of Long-Acre who improved the design and held riding schools to demonstrate the machine in Soho and The Strand. They had a brief spell of extreme popularity in 1819, when it was very much the fashion to have one. It was because so many Regency bucks owned them at this time, that the nickname ’dandy horse’ was given to the contraptions.
> 
> I imagine Crowley here trying one out after a visit to see Aziraphale. He likes to be on trend, I think he would have been intrigued enough to give it a go. Given his relationship with his lower limbs, I don’t see it going well.

**Soho 1819**

“Just swing your leg over it, as if you were mounting a horse, sir.”

Mr Johnson, face open and encouraging, stands with his hand hovering near Crowley’s back, as if trying to urge him on. The machine rolls forward under his hands. He had seen one mounted on a stand earlier, the two spoked wheels turned easily at his touch. An improvement on previous designs, he’d been told.

The talk of horses reminds him why he’s here. They hate him, understanding his true nature, shying away when he approaches, endlessly flighty under him, eyes rolling, their terror palpable throughout the entirety of every journey. Punishing on the rear too. Something the clever humans have invented could be better - something with wheels, all the rage just now - _a velocipede_. He likes to keep abreast of trends, it might be just the thing.

He pulls it towards him again, holding the padded saddle, and mounts. It rolls away, his legs flail, he falls and the heavy wooden weight of it crashes on top of him.

_Fuck._

“Keep your feet flat on each side, sir, then just perambulate as you normally would, you’ll soon get the hang.”

He rises and rights the machine, pulling it up by the handles at the front. Slinging his leg across, he stands for a moment, feeling the eager tug of it. He tenses his right foot, and pushes off. Immediately, he leans back, surprised. The skittish thing pulls away from him and he is dumped on his arse at the back of it, while it careers off, clattering down not far from where he lies.

_Bollocks._

He’s up again, angry, not willing to be beaten. Strides to the stricken contraption and rights it, knuckles white around the padded metal. Seated once more, he begins to move, one foot, then the other. It clicks, and suddenly he’s travelling, long legs pumping, one, two, the eager machine eating up the ground, feels like floating between steps.

An incline sees his speed increase, the weight of wood and metal pulls him past his ability to pace, he lifts his heels and he is _flying,_ coat tails whipping at his back. Bushes swipe past, air roaring in his ears. Speed on wheels. He _loves_ it, will buy one and get about the city, quite the dandy on his new machine.

The park perimeter approaches, railings, a flower bed, the necessity to turn. He swerves, cannot catch his feet upon the ground and crashes, catapulted into flowers and soil, skidding through them, their stems whipping at his face. The machine remains, wedged into the railings.

_Sod this, I’m going home_.

He snaps, restores the machine to the care ofits manufacturer and seeks the sanctuary of his rooms. The eiderdown and sheets are comforting around him. Sleep, his most reliable refuge. If he slumbers for a while the humans may come up with some new transport options.

_There has to be something better than that._

In 1933, he finds it.


End file.
